


Just a Vacation

by MistressX



Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adult Content, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasy, Naughtiness, Romantic Comedy, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 04:19:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressX/pseuds/MistressX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane and Thor offer Darcy the opportunity of a lifetime. However, a much needed respite becomes catastrophic when Darcy stumbles upon the other, prodigal prince of Asgard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface

 

PREFACE

* * *

 

The ‘it’s just not going to work’ line is pretty infamous.

You can fluff it up as much as you want but what it really comes down to is either A) I’m tired of fucking you or B) I found someone new to fuck. Blunt. But hey, I’ve been through this before. I’m entitled to a little cynicism.

So, it came as no surprise that tall, dark, and brooding decided playtime was over. I just didn’t expect it first date, mid-orgasm.

“Oooh, yeah. Fuck-no, no, no!” Tyler withdraws like my pussy just went into a vaginismus fit and scrambles away from our entwined limbs.

“Um,” I blink and control my panting. “What’s the problem?”

“Sorry, Darcy,” He fists through our tangled clothes and tosses a crumpled picture on the bed. “I can’t do this.”

The picture is grayscale with a white circle surrounding a human blip. A flash of gold slips around his left ring finger and my gut twists. Fantastic. I can cross home-wrecker off my bucket list.

“A father shouldn’t be doing shit like this,” He shimmies into his jeans and grabs that absurd chevron sweater. “It was just your breasts and dammit Nancy and I haven’t—”

“Dude, don’t make this worse,” I wrinkle my nose and sink underneath the comforter, fishing for my shirt, underwear, anything.

“Maybe you could have worn something less revealing, and I wouldn’t have even—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Are you serious?” I choke and say, “Are you seriously blaming your infidelity on my tits?”

“You didn’t have to dress like such a slut—”

“And this is where we say GOODBYE, Tyler. Nice knowing you. Get the fuck out.” My head tilts toward the door and it takes an act of God to keep my hands firmly knotted in the sheets.

He makes some other choice remarks, shoves Junior in his pocket, and stomps down the hallway. A few more snarky, muffled comments and … cue door slam.

And just like that, I’m left alone, sticky (ew), and nauseated – feelings usually saved for the morning walk of shame, but now come to torment me early. I find the aforementioned V-neck shirt and reprimand my breasts for being adulterous co-conspirators before tossing it in the laundry bin. I stand, stretch, and shuffle around the apartment searching for purpose.

_I need a shower. Scalding hot. Loofa. Almond scrub. Now._

Ding-ding!

“Oh, who could it be?” I gasp, dramatically, and read the text.

DARCY. CALL NOW. – JANE

“Oh, shit,” I fumble through Contacts, hit Send, and press the phone hard against my ear.

Jane answers on the first ring, full-blown ramble, “Darcy! Oh God, Darcy! You’ll never believe it, the readings were so bizarre, and then that cosmic burst of energy and—oh, oh God, I’m being so rude, am I disturbing you?”

“Jane,” I sigh and say, “It’s three in the morning, we’re past the point of disturbing.”

“Sorry, sorry, but, Darcy. He’s back. Thor. In my kitchen and—”

“And the first thing you think of is to call me? Your ovaries must be shriveled like prunes, Jane.”

“He wants to take me to Asgard, Darcy,” She breathed.

My breath catches awkwardly in my throat, “For how long? And wasn’t that rainbow bridge thing broken?”

A masculine voice interjects in the background about the fully functioning Bifrost and all of Asgard’s finest working toward blah-blah-blah. Jane’s voice rustles my attention.

“A few weeks, I look at it as a much needed vacation … will you come with us?”

“Right now?” I sputter and play a quick game of don’t-drop-the-iPhone.

“Oh, no, of course not right now – wow, how ridiculous of me, I shouldn’t have called so late. Will you think about it and call me back in the morning?”

This mystical land, now offered as something more than a myth, was more than a prime vacation spot – it would trump everything, forever. I hear Thor ramble about Asgardian tradition and his assumptions of what Midgardian women find attractive—flowers, clothes, food, games, yawn, yawn, yawn. But every so often he throws in a few words that spark my interest.

Your arrival would be celebrated with barrels upon barrels of mead and wine. (Sweet Jesus, yes.)

Our libraries are extensive and contain knowledge from all nine realms. (Drool.)

You will be my honored guests, free to do as you wish. (Royal guests? Niiice.)

“That all sounds … perfect,” I smile and excitement rushes across my face, flutters in my chest, and tumbles within me. “Yes, I’ll go with you guys. But no awkward third-wheel stuff, okay?”

Jane squeals like a pre-pubescent girl, sputters through the itinerary, and asks me five times if I’ll remember everything before she allows me to disconnect. But the mind is funny how it drifts from anticipation to rational detachment. Or in my case sarcasm.

“At least no one will label me a clandestine, adulterous slut in Asgard,” I muse aloud and fantasize about a steamy, long, skin-scrapping shower.


	2. Absinthe

Chapter One – Absinthe

 

_Make me your Aphrodite,_  
 _Make me your one and only,_  
 _But don’t make me your enemy._  
  
Katy Perry – “Dark Horse”

* * *

_  
_

_This stuff isn’t half bad_ , Darcy thought and nursed her second stein of mead. She circled golden swirls with her fingernails, tapped each gemstone around the handle, and smirked.

“Nope, definitely not dollar store plastic,” She mused aloud and received a small pinch on her hand. “Ow, dude!” She cried and pinched Jane right back.

“Really, Darcy?” Jane whispered through a toothy grin and annunciated, “We. Are. At. The. Head. Table.”

“Correction – we are at the _end_ of the head table, pretty damn far away from your ‘dear friend Thor’ as pirate Santa and Xena-warrior-wannabe pointed out. Can you believe they actually said that to you? Freakin’ rude.”

“ _Darcy_ ,” Jane hissed. “You did not just refer to the All-Father, Odin, Thor’s father as—”

“Blah, blah, blah. Don’t need a history lesson. God or not, it was _rude_.” Darcy took a longer swig only to receive another pinch. She choked mid-glug, cleared her throat several times, and spoke slowly, “ _Jane_ —if you make me bruise I’m calling DCF.”

“Just slow it down, okay? This alcohol has a complex molecular structure and a long half-life for us and I don’t think I brought enough Ibuprofen to—”

“Warning noted, Mom.” Darcy sighed and pushed the stein away sadly. “You, _my dear friend_ , are the Queen of buzz-kills. Can Thor even keep it up around you?”

“Does this celebration bore you so that you must banter like parlor maids?” Sif quietly interjected from behind them.

“Shiiit,” Darcy scrunched her nose and faced the fiery Goddess.

The warrior kneeled between the two women and spread her fingers across their chairs. She spoke from a tight-lipped smile, “If what Lady Darcy indeed speaks is truth, consider yourself honored to share such an intimate moment with our Prince.”

“Moment _s_ ,” Darcy smirked and watched Sif burst aflame.

Jane sputtered a long, squeaky apology. The warrior maiden remained silent, nostrils flared, and cheeks a vibrant purple. Darcy tip-toed her fingers over to the stein, hesitated on the handle, darted her eyes to Jane, and dragged it closer. When that maneuver went unnoticed, she quickly pounded back more mead. Sweet honey, orange, and hints of clove tickled her nose and bubbled deep within her stomach. Darcy contemplated throwing the stein on the floor and bellowing “Another” but a stern voice rustled her decision.

“The company of jesters does not keep well here, Lady Jane,” Sif rose and her bangles cast a brilliant amber light across the table. “It would be wise to keep Lady Darcy on a short leash, lest she be found roaming with the rabble.” She excused herself and strode over to a rowdy group of warriors.

“I am pretty sure she just referred to me as your bitch,” Darcy snorted and continued, “But in a really regal way, which is almost commendable. And kinda hot.”

“Darcy please,” Jane begged, her eyes downcast. “This is really important to me.”

Those few words made Darcy squirm and her gut twist. She really wanted to blame the mead. Or the fact that she was incredibly nervous. Like need to wear depends “just in case” nervous. She was only a few chairs away from elves, dwarves, and—no big deal here—the Queen of Asgard. Frigga lavished Jane and Darcy with hand-woven gowns, jewelry, personal handmaidens, and warm embraces right off the Bifröst. She would never be able to reciprocate such extravagant kindness. Darcy was overwhelmed and flailing in her only coping mechanism.

“I’m sorry,” Darcy grumbled and made lazy circles around the lip of her stein. “I will try to be on my best behavior. For you. Honest injun.”

“My Lady?” A familiar soprano voice inquired.

Darcy was greeted by Sjöfn, the Queen’s loaner handmaiden, and her infectious smile. She presented a tall, crystalized flute with a clouded green liquid and said, “For you.”

“Oh, thank you.” Darcy took immediate notice of the singular drink and asked, “Um, shouldn’t Jane get one too?”

“My Lady, this liquor was intended for you alone,” Sjöfn gestured with her eyes to the expansive balcony shrouded with marble columns and draperies. The handmaiden pouted at her hesitation. “That is the correct Midgardian courtship custom, is it not?”

“Yeah, yeah – buying a woman a drink, its fine.” Darcy stammered and clasped the stem, surprised by the chill against her fingertips. She took a tentative sip, gingerly letting the liquid sweep her lips. She pressed her mouth in a hard line and only recognized licorice amongst the exotic spices. Oh, but it was delicious.

Jane raised a defiant eyebrow and made a small, exasperated noise, “Did you forget the conversation we just had?”

“Listen, Momma duck,” Darcy sighed, “You want me to fly straight, play nice with the other kids? Then I’m going to need liquid courage.” She took a longer sip, savoring the intoxicating flavors.

“If I may be so bold, my Lady,” The handmaiden pressed, hazel eyes darting to the balcony once more. “You may wish to thank your suitor.”

“That would be the proper thing to do, _right_?” Darcy asked Jane, her voice dripping sarcasm. Jane responded with a scrunched nose and another irritated huff.

Darcy rose, flute in hand, and turned to her friend. “ _Lady Jane_ ,” She exaggerated and curtsied. “Don’t wait up, honey. Unless you know, you’re into that sort of thing.” She winked at Jane whom exhaled, shaking her head in obvious embarrassment.

Sjöfn escorted her through uproarious Asgardian warriors—Sif included, whom appeared to have forgotten their recent dispute and was reminiscing about battles with that fruity-looking Robin Hood. Darcy pushed past intoxicated dwarven advances and a whirlwind of dancing elves.  After her third polite decline for a dance, she decided on another swig of green liquor for luck. She closed her eyes and sighed. Damnit, this stuff was dangerous.

Sjöfn cleared her throat and Darcy’s lids flew open to towers of ivory and gold. How did they get here already? Darcy fidgeted with her purple gown and bronze girdle, which highlighted and accentuated her breasts. She still had no idea how that was humanly possible but, kudos to the Queen. She had talent.

The handmaiden parted back the gossamer fabric with one elegant stroke and bowed. Darcy swallowed hard and sauntered through a forest of glittering gold curtains.

Now was a horrible time to need the bathroom. Honestly, it was like her nerves and bladder had a mainline connection. Oh, you’re meeting someone that has shown some vague interest in you? Let me ruin this moment with an urge to piss. Her heart thumped erratically against her sternum. Each beat was swift and hard. This was ridiculous.

 _What the fuck, Darcy_ , she thought and chided her insides, _Relax and grow a pair!_

It wasn’t like she was never offered a drink from a man. Or a woman for that matter, but that was only one time. And Darcy was nineteen. And it was really, really awkward. She refused to dwell on it further and strode through the last curtain …

To nobody.

The balcony was empty save for two gold-plated benches scattered with steins and serving trays. An occasional, non-descript shadow was cast from filigreed torches and a large candelabra. A string quartet was playing muffled harmonies in the distance. She was alone.  

Darcy exhaled, mortified that she held her breath for a ding-dong-ditcher. This was, unfortunately, nothing new. Rejection and disappointment were her old frenemies. Those bitches were always ready for a surprise visit with a bottle of self-pity.

“Fuck you,” She huffed into twilight, “Whoever you are, you have no balls. You could have told me in person you weren’t interested. But oh no, keep up the mindfuckery.”

Darcy gulped down the last drops of green liquor. A cool breeze raised hairs on her bare back. She trembled from the change in temperature, sniffed once and rounded her shoulders for an intergalactic throw. She fantasized about the glass sailing over the balcony and knocking that arrogant shit out. It would give her such satisfaction.

But a guttural noise and stifled moans made her pause. She cautiously placed the flute on a serving tray and peered over the balcony. She leaned over the edge, grasping the beam for support, and scanned the scenery. It was, as she expected, dramatic and picturesque. Curling trellis vines wrapped around columns, a grove of what seemed to be endless apple trees on the horizon, a golden fountain encircled by ivory benches, Jane and Thor fucking, a marble statue of pirate Santa riding a gigantic horse into battle—

Darcy squawked and hit the floor. She clasped her hands over her open mouth, afraid that her own breathing would be too loud. Since when was Jane a risky, brazen glamazon that screwed Gods in gardens? She sulked and felt duped by that holier-than-thou act earlier. She scrambled and plastered her back against the marble.

The balcony would conceal her voyeurism for now. Darcy would sprint through the palace, drink at least two more steins of mead, and this whole evening would soon be forgotten. Until the morning anyway. And then Jane was getting a verbal bashing so bad her ears would bleed.

The plan was flawless. Except for one little problem. Darcy had company.

“I had envisioned Jane Foster more energetic,” The tall, dark-haired man pondered aloud, walking closer to her crouched body. “Does she always express her pleasure in such a manner?”

 _Oh, holy fuck_ , Darcy thought and winced. She wondered how fast this juicy information would spread across the kingdom. Pirate Santa would shit bricks.

The man appeared to enjoy her unease for he smirked, slid down to her, and leaned against the balcony. His leather armor lightly grazed her arm and erupted an army of goose bumps.

“Enlighten me, Darcy Lewis,” He said, his voice smooth as silk, “Are all Midgardian women poor bedmates? For this display is mediocre at best.”

Her heart pounded against her chest. She had a reserve of snarky remarks lined up and ready but, her mouth remained dry and sealed. Darcy was paralyzed beneath his artic gaze.

“Oh, come now,” He sighed, blue eyes narrowing and scrutinizing her face. “What has become of your quick-witted tongue? You begin to make me regret my gift.”

She frowned. He didn’t give her anything. Except for maybe a nice S&M fantasy for later on account of all his leather—suddenly, his green undershirt jolted across her weary synapses and attached to the liquor. The smell and taste of licorice flooded her senses. Her blood burned but, she chose her words wisely. No need to piss off an Asgardian, just make him sweat a little.

Her voice was unwavering and sarcastic. “How can I explain this nicely … You buy a lady a drink, act all mysterious, and leave her questioning her own self-worth? Talk about a terrible first impression.”

“It was not my intention to make you wait, and for that I apologize, but this form is extremely limited.” He said calmly and passed his hand through her body. The interaction caused green and gold sparks to spring from his fingertips. Darcy felt nothing.

“Whoa,” She breathed, mesmerized by his shimmering form. “Are you a hologram projecting from somewhere else?”

“Perceptive,” He said and intertwined his fingers, causing the glimmer to cease. “I am … detained for the moment, until a suitable decision is made for my transgression.”

“Nice word play,” She said and smirked, “Maybe you could coerce some other bimbo, but you don’t fool me, _convict_.”

“And knowing this, you still wish to converse with me?”

“I’ve been around some real _winners_ ,” Darcy said flatly and shithead Tyler flickered in her memory, pulling on that hideous chevron sweater. Gray and teal and fucking retarded. She jostled her mind before yet another unwanted thought threated to ruin the evening. “You don’t even come close. What did you do to get locked up anyway? Steal and sniff some underwear with your parlor tricks?”

“How little you know of me, mortal woman,” He laughed, baring a set of perfect white teeth. He resembled a feral animal, howling into the night. Darcy found it strangely erotic. She steered her thoughts away from being forcefully bent over the balcony, dress torn apart, and fucked stupid by his magic fingers.

“Well,” She speculated aloud, clearing her throat and mind, “I do know you’re some kind of wizard or sorcerer. Which is pretty impressive, I guess, if you’re into that stuff.”

“And are you, Darcy Lewis?” His voice was suddenly low, dark, and suggestive. “Do you desire enchantment?”

His questions sparked a hot rush and deep ache within her body. She inhaled the night air deeply, certain he was watching her breasts rise, and smirked again. _No man, Asgardian or otherwise, can resist these twin knockouts_ , she thought and beamed.

Darcy passed her hand through his arm, captivated by the glittery bursts beneath her fingertips, and spoke softly, “I desire something real, mystery man. I can’t have much fun with an illusion.”

“I concur,” He purred and snatched her fingers, causing her hand to shimmer gold with green bursts of light. He languidly brought her hand to his mouth and paused.

She writhed in his grasp, blatantly showing her impatience, and Darcy swore she felt his cold kiss and teeth graze across her hand. She shivered and watched his form shift from tangible to transparent.

His last words reverberated against the marble and her skull, “But I rather enjoy our mindfuckery, don’t you?”

And just like that, Darcy was left alone and horny for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. She would have taken care of her little, throbbing problem right there but, buzzkill Jane’s squeaky gasps caused her libido to shrivel like a raisin. Her caveman partner and his monkey-like grunts didn’t help either. It was like a bad audio-book porn. Darcy almost expected him to bellow, “Thor ready! Oof-oof! Thor cum!”

Darcy exhaled and stood slowly, feeling her legs wobble. She made a mental note to tell Jane about her lackluster performance. She contemplated if ‘Dude, your sac skills suck. Karma sutra that shit up. Love, Me” written on a pink sticky note and plastered to Jane’s forehead was a good enough effort.

She dragged her legs forward, stunned by that strange man and his influence over her body. Her thoughts drifted again to his wolfish smile. She envisioned his incisors clipping her pert nipples, his long fingers pressing hard against her lower back, and pushing her breasts in his open mouth.

 _Dammnit, shit, dammnit, fuck_ , Darcy mentally cursed and tried to shake those erotic thoughts away, but the apex of her thighs seared in protest. She strained her ears and hoped Jane or Thor would douse her lusty fantasies but, alas, they were finished.

She kicked an overturned stein out of her path and pushed back the golden, twinkling draperies. Darcy grumbled a few more choice words aloud and stomped toward the land of rambunctiousness, intoxication, and bad decisions.

She was really grateful for stuffing a dildo in her carry-on luggage. But because of mister clit-tease the master of illusion, maybe she should have brought two, because this one was getting destroyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12/28/13  
> What can I say? I love being an omniscient narrator. I am a control freak. 
> 
> Also, because Darcy has such an attachment to her iPod each chapter will begin with song lyrics. I envision her tastes as very eclectic. If you like, listen along to the song as you read each chapter.
> 
> Until next time, faithful ones! :)


	3. Trip

Chapter Two – Trip  
  
 _In a strange place_  
 _When the sun goes down we move_  
 _Into a strange phase_  
 _Like we’ve got nothing left to lose._

_Crosses – “The Epilogue”_

* * *

 

Darcy’s hands fisted through strands upon strands of golden draperies. She was determined to get off, right fucking now, and these damn things were everywhere. She grumbled and punched through one after another outlandish display of Asgardian affluence. Her carless jostling caused a drape to burst into tiny, brilliant white lights and rain upon the marble.

She paused and wrapped her manicured fingers around the fabric. A few pristine crystals dispensed into her open palm with faint musical tinks. She adjusted her glasses and scrutinized the little sparkles.

“Diamonds?!” She spittled and tossed them over her shoulder like spilt salt. She kicked the remaining fallen gemstones away from the crime scene. Darcy prayed that the all-seeing Golden Reindeer was on shit break.

_One of these babies is probably triple my entire month’s rent_ , Darcy thought and cringed.

Just moments before she was flinging these curtains around, a haphazard whirlwind of desire and anticipation. If all it took was booze and hormones to be a vandal, she might as well be locked up with her mystery felon. She detoured the smirk turning her lips upward and sighed.

Darcy buried her palms against her burning face and closed her eyes. She felt ridiculous. She would never get used to this opulence. She would never get used to being an honored guest of a _GOD_ , for fucks sake. It didn’t matter if she was on Earth or Asgard. She would always be screwing something up. Not keeping her snarky mouth shut. Drinking too much. On occasion flirting and fucking with indifference. Letting the morning rise with embarrassment—and as much as she tried to push it down, an empty ache.

Before the festivities, she was drawn a hot milk and honey bath—which was, without a doubt, pure heaven and soothed muscles she did not even realize were sore. Sjöfn presented not one but _four_ different gowns. Darcy selected the least extravagant but Sjöfn was not content. The handmaiden insisted on a bronze girdle and a long, back-drop amethyst necklace for accents. Darcy politely refused but Sjöfn was determined.

“You really don’t have to do all this,” Darcy mumbled and failed at swatting away Sjöfn’s expedient fingers. She was ushered to an elaborate vanity and instructed to sit. The cold marble seat bit her ass and made her back ramrod straight.

“My Lady,” The handmaiden exhaled and plaited Darcy’s long curls, “What good would I be to let you traipse the kingdom in common Midgardian garb?”

“I look stupid,” Darcy pouted and squirmed on the marble, adjusting to the drastic temperature change. “Like a red-light district milkmaid. Ding-ding! Curtains up! Open for business boys!”

Sjöfn knit her eyebrows and hovered a bronze pin above Darcy’s head. Her voice was small and weak, “Are you displeased?”

Darcy was familiar with that glazed over look of confusion. She had dumbfounded Thor—and Jane too—with countless pop culture references. What she didn’t expect to find was rejection. And with that, a sniffle from Sjöfn plummeted her heart deep below her navel.

_Oh, shit_ , Darcy thought, scrambling through her mind for words. _Oh please, don’t cry. I don’t do crying._ Darcy recalled her utter ineffectiveness with Jane after Thor ‘promised to return soon’ turned into months of chocolate ice-cream for dinner, sweatpants, and one sappy romance flick after another. Jane would blubber, honk her nose into the umpteenth Kleenex, and swear off Gods forever. Darcy patted and pacified with classic lines such as “there, there” and “everything will be okay”—all the while thinking Jane deserved someone stable and constant.

“I’m just not, well—” Darcy stumbled over her words, looking for something, _anything_ to pacify this situation. Her thoughts drummed for any asinine excuse.

She cleared her throat and began again, spreading her hands over her crossed legs, “I’m just not like you Asgardians … I’m like my clothes. You know, common.”

Not bad. That wasn’t a complete lie. She felt small amongst these giants. She was an honored guest, yes, but an annoyance as well. That was made very apparent by Pirate Santa on the Mario Kart-esque rainbow bridge. Thor boasted and introduced, while Jane presented a faltering smile and trembling hand to the King. She made a remark about his wonderful home and graciousness. Jane really tried. The King responded with a hearty guffaw and marched away. The Queen embraced Jane quickly, attempting to assuage her husband and his blatant disregard for them. The golden armored gatekeeper, turned his back on them too, fixated on galaxies and a stray shooting star.

As the streaming star arched over the inky skyline and behind Asgard, Darcy was pulled against the Queen and her lavender perfume. The Queen wished her welcome. Darcy traced the star with her somber eyes and wished for acceptance.

Sjöfn was soon animated and prattling away with comforting statements. Darcy only half-listened. She was stuck between Sjöfn’s many synonyms for beauty and aversion for the King. The thought of having to bed Pirate Santa, night after night for all eternity, crept unwanted into her mind and she gagged.

“My Lady!” Sjöfn gasped, holding Darcy tight by the shoulders, “Are you ill? Do you require the services of Eir?”

Darcy squawked as thoughts of Pirate Santa’s dangling appendage swung like a metronome and broke against her brain. She shook her head clear and stammered, “No, no. I’m okay. Just peachy. We were talking about something right?”

Sjöfn scrunched her nose and twisted a bronze pin into Darcy’s hair. The motion was so delicate and precise, Darcy only felt a mild tug against her scalp.

The handmaiden sighed softly and spoke, “I was merely commenting that you are an exquisite, and at times _perplexing_ , woman, Lady Darcy. Far from common. You are yourself—a trait not to be discounted.”

“Thank you,” Darcy murmured, her eyes downcast. She fidgeted and twirled the numerous bronze bracelets around her left wrist. She guessed Sjöfn must have slipped them on at some unknown moment. Darcy wondered what other unnoticed embellishments had found homage on her body.

“Perhaps the right Asgardian gentleman will appreciate your candor,” Sjöfn continued, more upbeat and chatty, “Unless you prefer the company of elves or dwarves? They do say dwarves are thick where it matters most.”

Darcy blinked. Twice. Her eyes found Sjöfn in the ornate mirror.

“Are we talking about _dicks_?”

A stifled giggle erupted from Sjöfn’s lips, danced across her hazel eyes, and bounced into a stray red lock of hair. She tucked the little ringlet behind her bejeweled ear and said, “Is this not a common bonding ritual for Midgardian women? I believe you refer to it as ‘girl-talk?’”

Darcy made no attempt to conceal her snort. Jane would never gossip about Thor or his mighty ‘Myeuh-muh’–no matter how much she begged. She deduced Sjöfn wouldn’t disrespect her Prince either, so Thor’s junk would remain a mystery. Like Big Foot. Or crop circles. She decided to play along, for Sjöfn’s sake at least.

“And how would you know about the girth of a dwarf, huh?” Darcy jabbered back, making a large O with both pointer fingers and thumbs. “Speaking from personal experience?”

“I know of _tales_ only,” Sjöfn smiled and pinned Darcy’s braids into a low bun.

“Uh-huh,” Darcy rolled her eyes and exaggerated the gesture with a husky sigh.

The weight of the long, amethyst necklace thumped against her back—and it was overpowering. She was wearing something meant for Gods. There were too many gemstones, too many diamonds, and too much muchness. Darcy slapped her clammy hands together in a loud, smacking clap. Sjöfn jerked forward and stared at her for a beat.

“What troubles you, my Lady?” Sjöfn frowned and wrinkled her forehead.

“What else you got? Any gossip about your guys?” Darcy asked and pushed her exposed, awkward nerves down. She was in desperate need of a distraction from this opulence.

“Well,” Sjöfn pondered aloud and stated, “Asgardian men have unmatched stamina.”

“Yawn, dude. I think that’s pretty obvious.”

“Elves have particularly long fingers …”

“Oooh, okay,” Darcy commented and coaxed with a beckoning finger, “But something tells me you can do better, Sjöfn.”

“And, oh!” Sjöfn happily exclaimed, “Apparently, Jötunn fluid causes frostbite!”

She didn’t even know what a Jötunn was, but all she could envision was Flick from a Christmas Story tongue attached to a telephone pole screaming, “STU-HUCK!” Her thoughts were engulfed by snowmen with icicle dicks spraying sleet skeet onto a woman bukakke-style, and Darcy was gone. She laughed so hard tears spilled down her cheeks. The effect was contagious and soon Sjöfn was a sniggering fit.

Sjöfn made Asgard a little bearable and less pretentious. She hoped to spend more time with her—and maybe a little less with Mother Hen Jane. Jane would probably be too busy ogling and eye-fucking Thor to notice her anyway. She loved them, but their nonsense was getting old.

But her little throbbing problem stirred again. A reminder of unfinished desire, it teased and tormented her to find release. This was so typical. Darcy always went for dark and dangerous—and as of recent, unavailable guys too. This dude was no exception. She was getting aroused by an unnamed, unknown felon. His thin, curved grin branded her mind. Her body remembered his icy, open-mouthed kiss and was desperate for more.

Darcy peeled her hands away from her searing cheeks and lifted her eyelids to green.

Everything was green.

She closed her eyes tight and opened them again.

Still green.

She took off her glasses.

Blurry and green.

She rubbed her eyes hard.

Blurrier, but still green.

“What is up with the monochromatic?” Darcy slid her glasses on and parted back another—once gold and diamond, now green and emerald—curtain, taking extremes to be gentle and considerate. This was weird.

“Welcome back, Lady Darcy,” Sjöfn’s voice was distant and submerged.

“Um thanks, but where are—” Darcy turned and nearly collided with the handmaiden. She braced her hands on Sjöfn and laughed, “Oops, you’re right there and—”

Naked.

Sjöfn was green, nude, and her perky little tits bounced with even the minutest gesture. Darcy was paralyzed and staring at them like a prepubescent boy’s first encounter with breasts. She shut her open mouth with a loud click.

“Were you received well by your suitor?” Bounce-bounce-bounce.

“Um, yeah. Oh, yeah. Yup,” Darcy removed her hands fast like she touched an open flame. She looked down and silently mouthed ‘What. The. Fuck.’ Sjöfn prattled on, apparently unaware of her nudity. Darcy shrunk upon herself and wished to crawl under the marble and make it a permanent home.

“When will you meet again?”

“He didn’t really specific on a time,” Darcy said and fixated on the floor. Her new mission was counting the number of circles within each tile. If she avoided eye contact with Sjöfn long enough, maybe the handmaiden would realize her error and streak into a closet. She still had time. Darcy was positive nobody else noticed. She only made it to six circles when a thunderous voice shattered her resolve. Shit. Now the loud-mouthed Prince of Asgard knew and poor Sjöfn was doomed.

“Fret not, Darcy Lewis,” Thor interjected and clasped a firm hand on her shoulder, “Your suitor will return again. And if he be of Asgard, he will lavish you with many trinkets.”

“Yeah. Yeah, good. I always liked the trinkets in the bottom of Lucky Charms the best,” Darcy replied and pressed her lips into a hard line. Was he blind? There was no way he missed the handmaiden or her perfectly upright tits. No fucking way. She lifted her eyes and caught sight of him.

Naked. And _very_ well-equipped. No steroid-induced, little surprise there. Good for Jane. Now that her suspicions were confirmed and confused, it was time to resume counting intricate circles. Her thoughts jarred again when a flash of flesh obscured her vision.

“Hey!” Jane’s voice was distant, yet she was front-and-center and full frontal. Darcy inserted a pinkie finger into her ear and vigorously shook it. The maneuver did nothing for the waterlogged voices of her friends. They must have had a wicked threesome, got inebriated on lust, and stumbled into the Great Hall. They were all high on orgasms. Their inhibition was completely gone—it made sense, she supposed. She really wanted to believe it made sense.

Jane contorted her body and growled, “What took you so long? The King has an announcement to make!”

Darcy puffed her cheeks and blew a long gust of air from her pursed lips. She could only fathom that the announcement would begin with her indecent display and end with permanent banishment. She scanned the Great Hall, pleading to whatever God—Asgardian or otherwise—that nobody would see them and maybe she could formulate some means of escape.

Her mind paused and flooded with images only therapy could erase. Her eyes burned with hairy, thick-where-it-mattered dwarves and lean, tight-assed elves. Darcy swore fruity Robin Hood and his dick winked at her. Xena-warrior wannabe was even more intimidating nude and didn’t need any further attention. Darcy jolted when three horns blared.

Pirate Santa stood from his seat, jeweled goblet in hand, no doubt about to commence the Asgardian freak fest. He was speaking and making grand gestures but Darcy heard only her crazed heart. It pounded hard against her eardrums, deafening all other sounds. She followed his white happy trail and paled. They were going to have a fucking green goblin orgy.

Darcy wanted to bolt. Her synapses were afire. Her muscles spasmed and burned. Her tendons ached with the need to run. Her hair bristled and begged for freedom to fly. But her feet were rooted in place. She was stuck.

Jane was the first to notice her alarm. She asked Darcy a question, face scrunching with apparent concern. Jane brushed her arm, made an exclamation, and shook clear liquid from her hand. Darcy hardly realized she was swimming in sweat. She looked down at her slick palms and was not distressed by her perspiration—but rather her pale, sickly skin.

Thor brought his face very close to Darcy. She was bombarded with sharp scents of amber and damp cedar. He asked a series of questions or maybe shouts—she wasn’t sure of anything but his overwhelming presence. He grabbed her by both arms and shook. The jostling did nothing for her escalating pulse or hyperventilation. She slipped and squiggled in his arms like melting ice.

Sjöfn snaked an arm around her waist. Despite urges to succumb into darkness, Darcy was appreciative to be upright and somewhat coherent.

Passing out seemed really inviting right about now. Maybe Sjöfn would make some excuse about human frailty and drag her to her chambers. Sjöfn could say Darcy shit her dress and 300-style kick her off the Bifröst—it did not matter, Darcy wanted out. She wanted no part of this madness.

A familiar, coy whisper assaulted her ear.

“What else did you drink tonight, Miss Lewis?”

It was the voice of her mystery man, but it was coming from Sjöfn. Darcy stared at the handmaiden mouth agape. Sjöfn curled her lips into a tiny smirk and inclined her head to Thor. Darcy faced him and gasped. He was frozen in a bellowing shout, hands locked and biting into her bare arms. The beads of sweat from his brow were suspended in air like tiny ice crystals.

Darcy peered and craned her neck around his golden hair. The elves were frozen in dance. Dwarves locked forever in mock fights. The handmaidens stuck curtsying before fruity Robin Hood. They were like statues.

“Repetition does little for my patience, woman,” Sjöfn sizzled with his voice into her ear.

“Are you doing all this?” Darcy murmured and turned her attention to Sjöfn.

The handmaiden smirked again, with that sly and mischievous grin of her mystery man. Sjöfn traced her earlobe and his voice replied, “Answer my question first.”

“A couple steins of mead, maybe? Plus, a glass of that green stuff.” She responded. Her eyes darted from each statue to statue, watchful for any miniscule twitch of life. Even the hungry flames from the extravagant candelabra were calm, enveloping guests in stationary shadows.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Darcy choked on her saliva and grumbled, “Is that all you have to say? This goes way beyond a cute little card trick. What the fuck is going on?!”

She was on the precipice of losing her fucking shit. If this was some kind of initiation rite to play with the big boys, then she forfeited. She was not getting flogged by fruity Robin Hood and his merry men. She would be damned if they jeered and chanted while she was pressured into frenching Sif—or worse. This must be what happens when Gods are bored. They prey on Midgardians and turn them into submissive pets. The horror of ball-gags and pony play was extinguished with his words.

“Excessive consumption of mead and absinthe frees the mind of most intangible things and presents them before you,” His voice hissed.

“Oh, nice,” Darcy groaned and continued, “Make me sound like an alcoholic. Meanwhile, I’m tripping balls on some Spanish fly shit.”

“I see no connection with falling over spherical objects and insects to your current circumstance, Miss Lewis.”

“No, dude,” Darcy sighed and wondered if all Asgardians were so concrete. It seemed she would spend her time spelling everything out. “I’m not tripping on balls, I am tripping balls, it means I’m tweaking out. Hallucinating. Making the intangible appear before me, like you said.”

“May I inquire on your intangible thoughts?” His voice murmured and Sjöfn’s grip tightened around her waist like a boa constrictor.

“Can’t you see through her?” Darcy gulped. It was enough of a mindfuck for him to be speaking and have it come from Sjöfn. She tried to crush her libido and focus on something that would require a vigorous eye-washing with bleach, but her eyes fogged with lust.

His tone dropped an octave and buzzed against her eardrum, “I would much rather hear your depictions. Your innermost thoughts and desires must be fascinating.”

This was hopeless. She was spiraling and consumed with need. Darcy was panting. It was embarrassing, how just a few inflictions of his voice turned her into a desperate little puddle. A slow, torturous warmth stirred in her cheeks and rippled in waves over her breasts. She wanted to coax his words out of Sjöfn’s mouth with her own. She bit down on her bottom lip and caged her hungry, wet tongue.

“Oh, come now, Miss Lewis. Is there nothing you see worthy of your desire?”

Darcy whimpered against her closed lips and pressed her legs tighter together. She saw more trim now than a producer in San Fernando Valley and Hugh Heffner combined—and yet, she wanted nothing more than him. His voice was such a maddening tease. She squirmed, desperately struggling to break free of Thor and his vice grip, but his immobile hands were a solid restraint.

“Do you desire release?”

She almost choked on the entendre. His tone did not divulge the type of release, but based on their current conversation—oh, to hell with it! Darcy could bear it no longer. Did it really matter where the voice came from so long as it was his? If this was the only way, she would close her eyes and surrender.

“Yes,” Darcy breathed, her acknowledgement raspy and destitute. A thousand times, yes.

“As you wish, Lady Darcy” And just like that, his voice was gone. Sjöfn and her coquettish soprano tone returned accompanied with wide doe eyes.

The green cloud was lifted and clothing materialized with convenient swiftness. The dancers swirled with fanciful freedom and finesse. A swell of laughter and animated banter returned and mocked her senses. Her arms prickled as Thor relinquished his grasp and patted her shoulder. Time resumed and taunted her with false promises and broken hope. It was as if her mystery man never existed.

She would have screamed. She would have resorted to tears and a full-blown, fist-pounding tantrum on the marble floor. She would have hardly cared that this was childish, shameless, and rude. She would have even hated him.

But her body had other plans, and with permission from her mind, Darcy passed out.


	4. Valkyrie

Chapter Three – Valkyrie

 

 _I live my life inside a dream,_  
 _Only waking when I sleep_  
 _I would sell my sorry soul, if I could have it all_.  
  
Marina  & The Diamonds – “The State of Dreaming”  


* * *

There were only two times Darcy was ever black out drunk. One was her first—and ultimately last—kegger. She was eighteen and impressionable like most freshman. She trusted this little shit with impossibly wide, brown eyes. His name was Kyle. He was majoring in exercise physiology—for the moment. He said “Monster Juice” was just an energy drink and vodka. Just like liquid candy, baby, he said and shoved a solo cup under her nose. It sounded harmless. It smelt like fizzy Pop Rocks™ and lemonade. And soon she was immersed in a sea of frat boys, keg stands, and baritone bellows of shots-shots-shots!

The next morning, streaming rays of sunlight assaulted her face. Darcy groaned and flicked dried sleep from her sewn eyes. She emerged—with an unceremonious clutter—from a mountain of sticky, plastic cups. Her throat felt full of cotton and sand.

On her zombie-drudge back to campus, she encountered several sniggering and appalled faces. She even got the infamous head shake from an elderly gentleman. Darcy could only conclude she must have looked—and let’s face it, smelt—like shit. A quick breath check confirmed she reeked like a thousand assholes. She dragged herself to the nearest bathroom and tumbled into the doorway. She gripped the porcelain sink, braced for her reflection, and moaned.

Raccoon eyes. Hair curled into a rat’s nest. Caked, crusty drool stuck to her chin. Unsure if the dried puke on her shirt belonged to her. Oh, yeah. She would win Ms. Trailer Park Princess for sure.

And then, oh sweet Jesus no. Right there. On her forehead. In what she prayed was not black permanent marker—

**PUSSY!!!**

That fateful August morning, beanie hats became a daily part of her wardrobe. But she had learned a few things fairly quick about college parties:

1)      All frat boys were assholes.

2)      Take shoes off _before_ drinking.

3)      Don’t drink with strangers.

Those rules worked for awhile. But taking her stilettos off didn’t save her at Nina’s bachelorette party. Her wine-blinders had her grinding against the stripper with steroid-induced bacne. Her friends still had incriminating evidence on Facebook. She thanked God everyday of her internship that Jane was oblivious to social media.

So here we were again—breaking those well-established rules and taking drinks from hot, sparkly strangers. The last thing she remembered was being on the precipice of lesbianism and being extremely frustrated. And then darkness.

But this felt different. Darcy didn’t have a construction site in her mind. She didn’t reek of sweat and beer nuts. She wasn’t half-naked and playing tug-of-war with some guy because _those were her covers damnit and sharing was not an option, jerkoff_. And she wasn’t puking and re-tasting the rainbow either.

She was actually okay.

Oh-ho, this proved it. She could totally handle Asgardian liquor like a freaking boss! She wouldn’t need to raid Jane’s pharmacy with her proverbial tail between her legs. Darcy was prepped to taunt a dozen or more “I told you so’s” as soon as she was out of this garden—

 _Wait, wait, wait,_ her thoughts blared.

She was nestled in a bed of fragrant white flowers. Their petals splayed across her body like a comforter. Their strong scent of honeyed nectar tickled her nose. She made two awkward snorts and succumbed to a powerful sneeze. The force of air from her lungs shook a few flowers free from her body. Their golden dust waltzed above her and swirled onto the ground.

Darcy sat up and scanned the horizon. She dragged her arm across her nose and sniffed. She was surrounded for miles by swaying fields of flowers. No Asgardian castle in sight.

“Great,” Darcy said and wobbled into a standing position. She brushed and patted golden pollen off her gown. She scanned the fields again and her face soured.

Jane must have thought dumping her drunk ass here would teach her a lesson. Thor must have agreed. And Sjöfn was only following the orders of her Prince. But was it really necessary to go out this far?

Darcy sighed. She could rationalize all she wanted. Yes, she should have slowed down and listened to Jane. Yes, she probably should have asked Sjöfn if that green liquor was acid. And no, she shouldn’t have tried to seduce a hallucination. And yes, she should have squashed her libido like a bug. But there was no time for these washed-up woes. She had to deal with it.

She contemplated if her mystery man was just that. Nothing but a figment of her over-active, hormone-charged imagination. She grumbled and hurriedly picked bronze pins out of her hair. She rustled her fingers through a snarl and yelped.

“Hopeless,” Darcy concluded about not only her hair—but herself.

The first evening stars twinkled against a vast purple sky. A flash of red wings skirted around her periphery. And then a flight of butterflies arched and twisted above her like low, languid clouds. Their wings beat together rhythmically and produced a slow, gentle hum. It was comforting, like a lullaby. Her heart leapt. Would they show her the way back to Asgard?

“Who am I kidding?” Darcy shook her head. They were _butterflies_. They were probably terrified and waiting for her to leave so they could suck face with the flowers.

She pushed down horrid thoughts of being stranded, abandoned, or left as an appetizer for some mythical creature. She had to stay in control. Darcy breathed slowly and skimmed the landscape a third time. There had to be something. Some clue, no matter how small, to get her back to Asgard. There had to be someone else that knew she was here. Somebody that didn’t approve of this shit.

Oh. Oh! Wait. Maybe that golden reindeer dude would help her out. He saw everything, right? So, he had to see her here. He would part the skies like Moses and she would be back with the Gods in a blink.

“Mister Gatekeeper!” She said and thrust her hands to the sky, “A little help, please?”

The sky remained the same intertwining purple and navy. No swirling vortex of clouds. No fantastic beam of light. No adrenaline-charged rush. No amazement as galaxies and stars brushed beneath her fingertips. Just a silly girl shouting to an empty sky.

Darcy jumped and waggled her body in absurd, attention-seeking gestures. She whistled and hollered into the darkening sky. She loudly clapped her hands. Of all the times to take a break, now was certainly the worst.

“Come on, dude,” Darcy sighed and clasped her hands together in prayer. “I know you can hear me. Is it about those curtains? It was an accident. I’m really sorry. Help a Midgardian sister out, okay?”

“Heimdallr falls deaf and blind to you here. And the Queen will be so disheartened. Do you know she weaved that cloth by hand with no assistance from her handmaidens for days?”

“Oh, fuck no,” the words tumbled from her mouth without filter.

His maddening, sensual voice had returned to torment her once more. Oh God, was she tweaking out _again_? What the _hell_ was in that green drink? Was it not enough that she was lost? Did she really have to put up with _him_ too?

“I am so not in the mood to play right now. Please crawl back into my subconscious where you belong.” Darcy said without turning around.

“Miss Lewis,” His voice dropped and almost sounded hurt. “You speak to me with such heat and vexation. To what do I owe this displeasure?”

“You can’t be serious,” Darcy shook her head and strode away. North and far from this bullshit seemed like the best choice. She would run into something reasonable soon. The flowers snapped in protest beneath her feet.

“Slow your pace and anger,” His voice called from behind.

“Doubtful,” She didn’t even know why she answered. She was talking with a hallucination. So really, she was arguing with herself. So really, she was fucking crazy.

“The form you have allowed me to take here is also limited,” His voice panted.

If she cared enough, she might have stopped and waited. But what was the point of giving in to her wild imagination? If she ignored him, he would fade away. And this would all be a funny story to revisit later over French cheese and wine. Well, maybe not wine. Maybe crackers. And turkey pepperoni. And cheap beer. Spray cheese was always on sale.

“And you trample on the personal field of a most labile Vanir Goddess.”

Okay, maybe she would have to ignore a little harder. This was not a psychotic break. It was just a minor after-effect of the green liquor. It was only temporary. She could get through it. She plodded forward and blocked out a small, pattering sound.

A sudden, unexpected weight scrambled on her right shoulder. Darcy cried out as four distinct, sharp areas pierced her back. She stumbled forward and braced for impact. The flowers cushioned her body and provided a soft landing on her belly.

What. The. Fuck. Was. _That_.

The delicate support from the flowers was weird, but hallucinations didn’t bite back like that, right? Oh God, she was being mauled by some kind of Asgardian monster. And she had nothing for defense except maybe a stray bobby pin. Her odds of poking this thing to death were non-existent. She was dead.

The weight shifted and pounced off her back. Oh, please! Maybe if she just laid still and didn’t breathe it would go away. If she passed gas right now maybe it would think she died. It was disgusting but worth a shot.

An alarmed meow and velvety paw touched her forearm. She lifted her head and gazed into the electric green eyes of a black cat.

Darcy felt absolutely ridiculous and mortified. She was really going to let one squeak out because this oh-so ‘horrifying’ Asgardian creature jumped on her back? This little adorable ball of fluff was harmless.

She reached out to stroke his fur and cooed, “Hi, baby. Are you lost too?”

“Let me do most of the talking,” The cat spoke in his voice.

“Oh. Come. On,” Darcy pushed her face into the flowers. If she didn’t see it, it didn’t happen. And this could not possibly be happening.

“You will be in agreement with whatever I say. Do you understand?” He said.

“Now you’re possessing some poor defenseless kitty? What’s next? My vibrator?”

“Quiet,” He hissed and swatted her hair.

A loud buzz erupted from above. Darcy rolled only her eyes up to the heavens. The red butterflies were in full frenzy, circling and humming above them like angry wasps. She didn’t realize they were following her. She could only conclude they were pissed—probably with her for destroying their feast.

In one fluid motion, they crashed to the ground. The impact caused their wings to burst into fabric, skin, a stern face, and strawberry blonde hair.

“I have irreparable brain damage,” Darcy said and flopped her face into the flowers. She _did not_ , she _could not_ have possibly just seen a swarm of butterflies transform into a person. That was not possible. This whole thing was impossible! And didn’t that make her better than most crazy people? They think their ramblings and fantasies are real. And this was most certainly really fucked up.

Darcy held fast to the tiniest strand of sanity and peered above the swaying petals.

Holy crap, this woman was attractive. Darcy couldn’t even call her perfect—for it would do her no justice. She made Victoria Secret Angels look like gap-toothed, pavement pounders. Her long, wavy hair danced in the breeze. Her pale skin was immaculate. And woah—her large, bare breasts were barely covered by an intricate ruby necklace.

“Your highness,” She said and the flowers bowed to her feet. It was as if they were worshiping her melodic, sweet voice. Golden torches burst to life and illuminated each loop and jewel of her necklace.

“Lady Freyja,” The cat bowed his head low, but his tail squirmed and whipped around like a rattlesnake.

“Your presence in my realm is not as concerning as this child,” Freyja squinted and maneuvered around her mystery ma—err, feline. She circled them like a poised hawk.

“It was an erroneous gesture on my part,” The cat said and inched closer to Darcy. His fur brushed against her arm. It was a sore reminder of the time his leather erupted a sea of goosebumps on her skin. That was the first time they met—well, the first time she started to hallucinate. And the first time she wanted to rip his clothes off with her teeth.

But now was so _not_ the time to have fuzzy feelings about him.

“And I would like to hear of it,” Freyja paused and the flowers faced her, stretching their petals and leaves upward. “For this is unsettling. A Midgardian child has no place among fallen warriors and Kings.”

_Wait. What?_

“I gave her Absinthe, as a gift,” The cat curled his jittery tail around his paws. “I had not considered her excessive consumption of mead prior to my offering.”

_Um, what?_

“A poor show of affection,” Freyja raised her eyebrows. “One that may result in the demise of your new conquest.”

_His what?!_

“Conquest?” Darcy had heard enough. She was not some little plaything.

“Darcy,” The cat hissed and curled his tail, “Remember my words.”

“Stuff it,” Darcy said and pushed herself up. “I refuse to let a figment of my imagination berate my character.”

“Lady Freyja,” The cat walked between them. “Please, pardon her transgression—”

“Blah, blah, blah, dude. I got this,” Darcy rolled and stiffened her shoulders. She pointed her finger at the woman and said, “Listen here, Tits McGee. I’m not some object to be used and tossed away. I’m not a fucking pump and dump.”

The cat—in all his previous grace—now appeared in desperate need of a litter box. He paced around Darcy. His tail wrapped around and claimed her leg. His nails bit her bare feet. A small growl reverberated against her skin. She did not know if it was meant for her or Freyja—but it did not matter.

“Your woman spits fire from her tongue.” Freyja smiled with teal, cold eyes.

“I’m not _his_ ,” Darcy poked the cat with her toe and he retracted his claws. He mewed and pawed the fabric of her gown. “ _He_ doesn’t exist. _He_ isn’t real. And neither are you.”

Freyja closed the small gap between them and scrutinized her face. The cat—obviously not okay with her closeness—let out a long, exaggerated hiss.

But it was too late. Darcy was swathed in her exotic, earthy scent—akin to passion fruit and wildflowers. It was intoxicating yet dangerous. Though anger burned and bubbled within her ventricles, her muscles relaxed. She was trapped.

“You think of me as an invention of your mind?” Freyja smiled.

“Yes,” The word fell from Darcy’s mind, to her mouth, and into the open air. She tried to catch the affirmation, but it tumbled from her tongue. Her mind raced, but her body was calm.

“And you think you have power over me?” Freyja pursed her lips.

“Yes,” Darcy said, though she knew the answer was wrong. Her mind screamed for silence, but that aroma coaxed her to respond. She had lost all control.

“Do I frighten you?” She brushed the gray feathers of her cloak with long, thin fingers.

“No,” Darcy replied.

The cloak shifted and extended into large, expansive wings. The wings hovered precariously over Darcy and the feline. The cat was howling now, a ferocious and horrific sound for such a small creature. The noise prickled the hairs on her nape, but Darcy was motionless.

“I will ask but once more, mortal,” Freyja and her wings bristled. “Do I frighten you?”

“No.”

“Good,” Her wings settled and she patted Darcy’s shoulder. “Fear drowns even the sturdiest of Asgardians. I like to think you will _wake up_.”

The scent of wildflowers was drifting away. The voice was hers until the last two word—those were spoken in another small, distant yet familiar voice.

“What?” Darcy said and something grabbed tightly within her body. “Hey! Ow!”

“I like you, child,” Freyja smiled and broke a ruby from her necklace. “But _you must wake up_.” She pressed the jewel in Darcy’s palm and closed her fist.

“Why are you talking like that?” Darcy felt a stronger pull underneath her skin. It curled and tightened around her bones. And then she was dragged forward, pushed on by some unknown force. The pressure throbbed and burned. She cried out from the sudden ache.

“ _Darcy, please wake up_ ,” Jane’s sobbing voice broke through Freyja’s mouth. Freyja brushed Darcy’s hair and whispered, “… be gentle with his heart.”

Darcy was relieved when a flood of brilliant white light blinded her vision. She was over this madness. She was more than content to put shape-shifting hallucinations and twisted angels out of her mind forever. That golden gatekeeper must have finally acquiesced to her pleas. She was so ready to be out of here.

She was airborne, levitating above the grass and flowers. Her toes traced their petals and leaves. The adrenaline-charged rush came, but something was wrong.

The vortex did not shoot her across stars or cosmic wonders, but rather down into the soil. She burst through rocks and choked on dirt. She drilled into some dark, foul place. Flashes of furniture made of bones, ravenous dogs, and a throne of human skulls burned her eyes. An overwhelming stench of rotten flesh attacked her nostrils—it took all her strength not to wretch. Darcy contemplated if it would have been better to stay crazy with her mystery kitty and psycho-winged bitch.

She knew it was better the moment her eyes met a nightmarish creature. This was a monstrous thing, masquerading as a woman. It had a long trailing robe, but the fabric did a horrendous job covering its hideous countenance. This demon was split down the middle—half skeleton and half human flesh.

When the creature extended a bony hand to Darcy, it seemed time slowed. As Darcy passed above the thing, she closed her eyes and retracted her own dangling hand. She was not getting dragged down and eaten alive by its grizzly maw.

The once inquisitive monster scowled and cursed in a language she could not comprehend. Darcy gasped as she accelerated just past the creature’s scrawny grasp. The last she heard from it was a loud, blood-curdling shriek.

Darcy was swerving around gusts and unrecognizable screams. It sounded tortuous. Her stomach heaved and flipped with every turn. Darcy was terrified but, she willed her eyes open long enough to realize she was crashing into herself.

The blow was so abrupt and forceful, Darcy sat bolt upright and gasped for air. She grabbed hold of her body, slick with sweat, and shook. She was alive. She escaped.

A chorus of voices, shouting her name, gave her pause. Darcy lifted her weary head and inspected the unknown surroundings.

She was shrouded in wet linen that stuck to her skin like glue—the culprit, she hoped, was sweat and not some other bodily function. The bed was enormous and circular, swathed in a disarray of white sheets and duvets. Sheer golden curtains surrounded the bed. The rising sun reflected on tiny jewels within the fabric and cast tiny rainbows on the covers.

They looked like Queen Frigga’s curtains. She breathed a little easier. This was Asgard. She was safe.

Jane was the first to slide across the linen and squeeze her tight. She cried into Darcy’s hair and blubbered incoherent sentences.

“I’m all slippery,” Darcy said and wrapped her arms around Jane, “You’re going to stain your clothes!”

Jane pummeled her with weak punches, “Darcy! This is the first thing you say after being comatose for days?”

“ _Days_?” She had to say the words aloud to actually consider them. That wasn’t possible. She had only been dreaming for a few hours.

“Exactly _four_ days,” Another woman in sky blue robes appeared with a golden basin. She set it on an elaborate, engraved nightstand and sat opposite Darcy.

“This is Lady Eir,” Jane said and tentatively released Darcy, “She watched over you.”

“I had assistance.” Lady Eir peeled back the linen and crinkled her nose at the moisture. “To which I require again, please.”

A flurry of hands descended on Darcy. The air bit her naked skin as she was stripped of clothes. Jane was among them, tying her hair back into a quick bun. A warm, fluffy towel was placed over her exposed flesh by shaking little hands. Darcy recognized those pale, freckled arms and smiled.

“Hey, Sjöfn,” Darcy said and touched her hand. “Missed you. Seen any thick-where-it-matters dudes lately?”

“Lady Darcy,” Sjöfn recoiled from her and cowered into the bed. “Please forgive me. I never meant for anything so horrible to happen. I was following the orders of Prince—”

“Are you accusing Thor of poisoning her?” Jane spat and rounded on Sjöfn.

“—Loki.”

Darcy did not know which was worse, the complete pallor of those around her or the fact that everyone heard her mutter, “Who the hell is that?”

Like it or not, she received an animated—and aggressive—history on the fallen Prince of Asgard. His numerous attempts for multi-realm domination, his failure after failure for the crown, and his complete disgust for all things Midgardian. Oh, and not to mention a few thousand casualties thrown in for good measure. She could not help but snort when Jane quoted Doctor Banner’s description of his mind—very much like a bag of _cats_ , indeed.

So, her mystery man was indeed real. A crazy, convicted, exiled but certainly real God-Prince. And despite all that, she still wanted to fuck him senseless—it was a big problem, yes, but it could wait. She would solve it at home with lots and lots of therapy (aka wine).

“Geez,” Darcy whistled and said, “When did this poor shmuck last get any?”

“Darcy!” Jane exhaled and snapped a washcloth against Darcy’s skin. “Is that _all_ you got out of our conversation?”

“Lady Jane,” A third handmaiden emerged, dressed in red draping fabric. She tossed long, black curls over her shoulder and said, “It is entirely possible Mistress Darcy still suffers from delirium. It is best to let her mind rest.”

“I could not agree more, Lofn,” Eir rose from the bed and handed off her washcloths to the dark-haired handmaiden. “Resume bathing and ensure Lady Darcy is well-rested for this evening.”

“This evening?” Darcy squeaked. At this point, it would be a miracle if she could stand let alone attend some grand Asgardian function. Did they have wheelchairs around this place?

“Don’t worry,” Jane smiled, “It’s just this small thing with Thor and his parents.”

“Oh, yeah,” Darcy sighed. “No pressure there.”

“Fear not, Lady Darcy,” Sjöfn beamed, “I will prepare your wardrobe!”

Lady Eir ushered them away with hushed tones toward the great oak doors. She glanced back to Lofn and said, “Ensure her safety, at all costs. Do you understand?”

The frost from her tone was palpable and uncomfortable. Darcy squirmed and observed the handmaiden for retaliation. But nothing came.

“Would you know me to do any less?” She purred and wrung a washcloth over the basin.

Her response seemed suitable enough for Lady Eir for she left them alone. Lofn cleaned her body with quick, firm strokes and instructed her to turn. Darcy was too tired to be mortified and rolled onto her side. She scrubbed her shoulders down to her lower back. Lofn would pause only to retrieve fresh water or a new washcloth.

Darcy’s eyelids were heavy. She did not anticipate a bed bath—or being awake for less than ten minutes—would be so exhausting. She failed at stifling a yawn.

“Sorry,” Darcy mumbled and peered over her shoulder.

“This elixir will mend your fatigue,” Lofn presented her with a small, steaming mug.

“Um,” Darcy faltered and slowly shifted to face Lofn. “What is that? Last time I took an unknown drink from an unknown person—well, lots of fucked up shit happened.”

“This is a healing brew made with extract from Idunn’s apples,” She said and passed the drink to Darcy. “Lady Eir mixed it earlier.”

Darcy did not have to ask if they were from the garden—for there, floating in the mug was a paper-thin slice of gold apple. The scent of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves wafted around her nose. She hesitated. Was she really going to do this again?

“It will do you no good cold,” Lofn said and made a motion for Darcy to drink.

Darcy sighed and put her faith in the handmaiden. She swigged the elixir back in one shot. _Yuck_. The smell was certainly deceitful. She shuddered. When the aftertaste faded, Darcy was surprised—and very thankful—to feel somewhat perkier. She thanked her and returned the empty mug.

Lofn cradled it in her hands and tapped the handle with her fingers. “He never meant to harm you either, Lady Darcy.”

Darcy did not know what to think of that statement. It was so contradictory. Jane and Lady Eir had painted Loki as the most offensive criminal in all the nine realms. Sjöfn said nothing, but only kept her eyes downcast. Lofn was making his coma-inducing alcohol seem like just a mistake.

 _He would have to do a lot of work on his knees to make me think it was a mistake_ , Darcy thought and smirked.

“If he really meant it,” Darcy shrugged and said, “I just might let it go. But that’s a _huge_ maybe. I think it would be better to hear an apology from him anyway.”

“I knew I valued your mind, Lady Darcy,” Lofn scampered around the bedroom, collecting clothing and other toiletries in a woven basket. “We will make the impossible happen.”

“And what would that be?” Darcy said.

“We are bringing you to Prince Loki.”


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Four – Surprise!

  
_The sun revolves around you._   
_I don’t know what you think you’re on._   
_But if it would please you_   
_I could say you were the cat’s meow._

Love Drug – “The Only One”

* * *

 

It was ridiculous. Darcy had heard some absolutely preposterous ideas before but this—oh, this won first place. There was no possible way this could work. Darcy replayed the conversation over and over again ad nauseam.

  
Have tea party dress-up with the royals. Smile. Feign interest. Laugh on occasion. Complain of some residual ailment. Excuse self. Have Lofn escort her “back to her chambers.” Make a detour to Prince Loki. And somehow have amazing intergalactic super sex time without getting caught. Oh yeah, this plan just reeked of foolproof ideas.

  
But to get past the guards, Darcy would need to tweak her appearance—which was code for whore it out. Because according to Lofn even a delinquent God-Prince needed respite in the warmth of women. To an untrained, naïve mind her statement sounded eloquent. But Darcy was savvy to her true meaning. Prince Loki just needed a good fuck.

  
And while this certainly was a once in a lifetime fling, it was wracked with confusion and unanswered questions. Darcy didn’t even want to think about the worst of all, but it slithered into her mind and squeezed tight around her lungs.

  
Did Loki even want her to survive?

  
Lofn swore it was an accident. She was convinced the Prince never meant her any harm. That he never intended for her to almost—well, let’s be honest here—die. And while Darcy wanted to believe her, his past history said otherwise. Loki tried to subjugate and eradicate an entire civilization—what would one more little human girl possibly matter?  
Darcy had to know. Rumors and hearsay would only cause more trouble. She needed to hear the truth. She deserved to know everything. And there was no better time to start than now.

  
“So, uh,” Darcy squirmed—yet again, for perhaps the umpteenth time—on the cold marble chair. Sheesh. Did the interior designer even consider cushions around here?

  
Lofn did not pause from her primping of Darcy. “Yes?”

  
She straightened on the seat and continued, “Has this happened before? You know with Loki? Kinda seems like he’s playing with his prey, if you follow me.”

  
“Yes,” Lofn rolled her dark eyes up to Darcy. “The Prince derives pleasure from games. As such, he is not unaccustomed to sharing his bed.”

  
Wait, what? Darcy wrinkled her nose. This was so not where she wanted to take the conversation. She needed to steer this somewhere else—

  
“Were you inclined to think him chaste?” Lofn laced silver bracelets around Darcy’s arm. “I assure you, he has had far many lovers than your few years of life.”

  
Oh, great! Real comforting! Darcy puffed her cheeks and closed her eyes. Was this really happening right now? Was Lofn really going to talk about all of his sexual conquests?

  
“Does his carnal knowledge intimidate you?” The handmaiden pressed.

  
Oh, yeah. They went there. And it needed to stop. She had no desire to learn about his numerous bedmates, extensive cunnalinguist skills, or all the ways she paled in comparison to his past lovers. Darcy did not want to know any it. The best she could do was go along with it. And pretend to not think about Loki tangled in some existential karma sutra with an Asgardian Goddess.

  
She shrugged and her heart thumped against her ribcage. She hoped her answer was good enough. “He’s a Prince, so it makes sense to uh, sample … the goods … every now and again. I get it. He’s entitled or whatever.”

  
Lofn squinted and Darcy’s heart hesitated. Crap. She wasn’t buying it.

  
The handmaiden curtly nodded and fiddled with yet another bracelet. “While he is entitled, be assured that his tastes are particular. You fascinate him, Lady Darcy.”

  
Phew.

  
Any normal, rational woman learning that a deranged criminal was fascinated with her would run screaming to the authorities for protection. Some might take matters into their own hands and retaliate against such a beast.

  
And then there was Darcy Lewis.

  
Despite all of his games and tricks, he though her desirable somehow. If that was even the tiniest bit true, she would make him writhe in her hands.

Darcy did not dwell on the grand fucked up scheme of things. She filled her thoughts with something more pleasurable. Like making that high and mighty Asgardian boy crawl around on all fours and beg for a taste of her skin. Then maybe she would grant him a lick. A small nip if he was a really, really good boy.

Oh, yes. This was perfect.

* * *

 

Darcy felt electric. She buzzed with energy and excitement. Maybe that preposterous plan would actually work! Nobody was going to notice her—nobody was going to suspect mousy Miss Darcy sneaking and screwing around. Who knows? If anyone found out, they might give her a medal of courage for unthawing Loki. Ladies and Gentleman of Asgard, the winner of the Magic Healing Pussy Award goes to—!

  
Whoa. Slow down, girl. Was this from that hot apple drink? Damn, it could cure a hangover in mere seconds. That miracle juice could have saved her ass so many times. Unless it was laced with some kind of outer space speed—

  
Sjöfn cleared her throat and motioned toward a large, floor-length mirror embellished with diamond accents. “May I have your approval, Lady Darcy?”

  
During her self-absorbed resurgence, Darcy had apparently missed the exchange of handmaidens. She peered around her bedchambers but the dark-skinned woman was absent. She hoped Lofn did not disclose any additional steps to their plan—or change it. Darcy sighed. She really needed to learn to say NO to Asgardian drinks.

  
“Yeah, of course,” Darcy said and bunched up the light, flowy fabric of her dress.

  
“Everything must be perfect,” Sjöfn bowed her head. “I would hate to cause you any further disappointment.”

  
“What?” Darcy stood and strolled to the mirror. “Come on, none of this was your fault. You didn’t know what would happen.”

  
The handmaiden kept her head down, but Darcy caught a wince between the strands of curly hair that tumbled over her face. Her eyes were glassy and distant. Darcy’s heart contracted.

  
“Please, don’t beat yourself up—”

  
After stealing her first sideways glance in the mirror, all of Darcy’s words left her mouth. She turned and stared at the person reflecting back.  
Her skin glowed. Her shiny hair appeared to have flecks of gold locked in each tendril. Her cheeks were flushed a bright, healthy pink. Her plump lips glistened with some unknown sheen.

  
She scanned this woman in the mirror. Her neck was accentuated with a collar of silver and sapphire. Beneath her prominent collarbones a cerulean gown blossomed. The fabric embraced her body and formed a puddle at her feet.

  
Darcy inched closer and touched her reflection for confirmation. Silver bangles jingled and glittered down her arm. The same bracelets Lofn spun around her arms with precision and care. This person was her.

  
She could not contain her laughter.

  
Sjöfn raised her head and frowned, “Lady Darcy, I apologize. You think yourself a joke. We do not have sufficient time to change much other than your hair. Please, return to your seat and I will make haste.”

  
“No, I’m good. Great, actually,” Darcy smiled and watched the mirror mimic her movements. “My God, Sjöfn. Is this really me?”

  
“Do not fool yourself, Darcy Lewis,” A bellowing, throaty voice answered, “Lady Eir’s elixir is the primary culprit of your transformation.”

  
Sjöfn whirled into a low bow and remained silent. Darcy bristled and stared at the King reflecting in the mirror. What was he doing here?

  
“What do I owe the pleasure, your majesty?” Darcy asked. The fine hairs on her neck stiffened as he approached.

  
“I will be your escort. Tonight we will dine with the Queen, Thor, and …” He paused and seemed to settle on some suitable words. “Your friend, Jane.”

  
“Oh,” Darcy said and turned to face him, “I thought maybe Sjöfn would do that.”

  
“No,” Odin clipped and the handmaiden flinched. “She has other duties. I do, however, appreciate your concern that this task is not one for a King. But you and I must share some quiet words.”

  
Oh, shit. Darcy thought and swallowed hard. That did not sound good. What does this pompous buttwipe need to talk to me about?

  
Would she need to A) cough up the money for those diamond-encrusted drapes she ruined, B) kiss ass for telling Sif to—politely—piss off, or C) apologize to all of Asgard for going into a drug-induced coma and throwing off their groove for a few days.

  
“Come,” He commanded and extended a golden plated arm to Darcy.

  
His weathered, stern features indicated even a brief pause on her part would be erroneous. Darcy guessed anything against his decree would meet similar disapproval—or worse. She had no intention of being at the end of an executioner’s axe.

  
Darcy parted her lips and strained a smile. Odin merely stared. She teetered under his intense gaze. A small, impatient exhalation passed his lips.

  
Oh, this was going to be just fantastic. She wondered how many more awkward conversations and acts of clumsiness would demote her to jackass status. She might as well start practicing donkey brays now.

  
Darcy lifted the train of her dress and prayed it would reduce at least half of her potential screw-ups. She imagined her sandal catching just right, tearing her dress, and exposing herself to the entire kingdom. Poor Jane would wither and die on the spot. But an accidental full-frontal would be small change compared to if Jane ever found out what Darcy really thought of Loki.

  
She straightened and sauntered into the gilded hallway. The golden architecture was enveloped with long crimson tapestries. Wall torches sparked to life with white flames. In the distance, a harpist plucked a wispy melody. Darcy noticed the palace guards stiffen as the King exited. Odin certainly had a way of making everyone feel tense. It was unsettling.

  
Sjöfn wrapped her arms around the elaborate oak doors. Before they clicked shut, Darcy glimpsed her mouth two distinct words: Good luck.

  
Darcy stared wide-eyed at the closed doors. Because that just didn’t scream ominous! Whatever Odin wanted to discuss, Sjöfn already knew it would be so much more than unpleasant. A little warning would have been nice! She made a mental note to scowl at Sjöfn for a good 30 seconds. No way were her doe-eyes or puppy-dog frown making Darcy break.

  
She strode by the King in silence, making sure to keep his pace and tread softly. She had a horrible habit of letting sandals thwack loudly against her heels. And in this palace, those slapping echoes would try the patience of anyone. Present company most of all.

  
Odin spoke without breaking a step. “Midgardians. Curious, captivating race. Always tempting death with outstretched arms.”

  
Ooo-kay. Darcy didn’t know if that was meant as a compliment, insult, or random as hell conversation starter. Was this the Asgardian equivalent of small talk?

  
It seemed rude not to acknowledge him. And poor form to not agree. Darcy decided on something non-committal. “I guess we are pretty strange.”

  
“Strange. Yes. That is fitting.” He mused aloud and turned a sharp corner. “Perhaps you can explain to me another oddity.”

  
“I’ll do my best,” Darcy furrowed her brows. He was stalling. Maybe on purpose to sniff out her anxiety. She gripped the fabric of her dress tight, as if it would give her some leverage.

  
“Why an Asgaridan would be captivated by a thing meant to be fleeting?”

  
A thing? Was this what the King thought of Midgardian women? It made her stomach curdle. What a backwards asshat! What was wrong with two people, regardless of their intergalactic race or status—

  
Oh, fuck. Darcy panicked. He knows about us. And now he wants a reason. Shit, I don’t even have one! Sorry, your highness, your adopted son is kind of a freak? And I probably am too, because I kinda like it? Come on, Darce. Think of something—something that won’t get you a ticket to the stocks.

  
“Well,” Darcy exhaled. “People express affection in weird ways—”

  
“Affection, fondness, love—it offers no protection,” Odin bristled and clicked his teeth. “Asgard is a fickle wife. She does not fare well with competition.”

  
Darcy scrunched her nose. What did her and Loki have to do with ‘being in a relationship’ with Asgard? Pirate Santa needed to cut the fluff and get to the point. She was tired of this cryptic crap.

  
“You will assist Jane Foster in understanding this matter. There will be no more distractions for the future King of Asgard.”

  
Oh hell to the no. Darcy could not go back to months of mascara-stained cheeks, buying Kleenex and chocolate in bulk, and wracking sobs at 2:00am. She would not destroy Jane like that. She could not do that to her best friend.

  
“You want me to tell Jane to break-up with Thor? No way. Do it yourself.”

  
“You are her friend,” The King said. “This would be more humane coming from you.”

  
“I can’t do that,” Darcy paused before gold and ivory columns. A warm breeze caressed her cheek. She turned toward shouts of her name.

  
In the same courtyard she had witnessed her friends in the throes of wild passion, was a long wooden table flanked with servants. A kaleidoscope of fruit, bread, and wine spanned the table. A large boar with a shiny, golden apple wedged in its mouth stared at her with empty eyes. Fruity Robin Hood was smiling next to the beast. His chest swelled and two women fawned over him. One gripped his flexed arm and squealed.

  
Just like dogs in heat, Darcy thought. She wondered if she looked that desperate around a certain Asgardian war-criminal.

  
The exclamations were louder now. Jane scurried from her seat, a flurry of gray and rosy fabric, and rushed for Darcy. The Queen remained seated, but ushered for Darcy and Odin to join the festivities.

  
“I gathered some resistance would be met,” Odin outstretched the crook of his arm. “Hence why this gathering serves more than one purpose.”

  
Darcy placed her arm through his and walked. What was that supposed to mean? Odin led them from the open terrace to the exorbitant fountain. He disengaged once the peppy scientist was within arm’s reach. Jane did a quick bow before the King, which was disregarded by his majesty, and wrapped herself around Darcy.

  
“Hi,” Jane mumbled into her hair, “I’m so happy you’re here.”

  
“Ditto,” She hugged back. Darcy observed Odin pass a wave of bowing handmaidens and approach the Queen. Frigga smiled and gestured to a grand wooden throne accented with wildflowers. But after a few words left his mouth, she faltered.

  
Jane took Darcy’s hands and regarded her. “You look beautiful.”

  
“Yeah,” Darcy responded.

  
Jane could have told her she looked like a painted pig whore. She could have told her damn near anything. She was fixated on the royals. As Odin continued to speak, the color drained from his Queen. She said nothing, but merely nodded once.

  
“I don’t think I can wait until Thor announces the news, Darcy,” Jane bubbled on, unaware that Darcy was eons away.

  
“News,” Darcy parroted. She watched the Queen smile, resume composure, and act completely unfazed. Like a bomb was never dropped in her lap. Like the seconds before never happened. What the hell was going on?

  
“Well, Thor comforted me—a lot—when you were comatose. We thought you were going to die. And we wanted to feel alive. I, uh, also forgot to pack contraceptives. In hindsight, I should have done the injection before we left.”

  
W. H. A. T.

  
Darcy grabbed her by the upper arms. “This had better be a fucking joke, Jane.”

  
“No,” Jane shook out of her grasp. “I wouldn’t joke about our child.”

  
Our child. Oh, dear God. Darcy clenched her teeth, praying it would keep her temper at bay. “I distinctly remember a certain someone telling me to behave. Does that rule not apply to you?”

  
Wanting one little romp in the sheets with Loki didn’t seem so horrible all of a sudden. It would never be a permanently, devastatingly life-changing mistake. There was no way Darcy would be that stupid.

  
“I was scared, Darcy,” Jane stumbled and choked on her words. “I still am.”

  
Darcy winced. She was horrible with tears. “Are you sure it isn’t just, uh, gas?”

  
And decidedly worse at adding humor to a humorless situation.

  
“What?” Jane sniffled and placed a trembling hand on her stomach. “No. An Asgardian fetus grows at an accelerated rate. Thor thinks I’m a few weeks along already.”  
“Oh, marvelous,” That thick, honeyed voice responded. “Does Odin know of your condition?”

  
Darcy froze. There was no way to escape him. She would be tormented forever by hallucinations and his liquid sex voice. She was ready to resign to a life of perpetual arousal but, Jane acknowledged her delusion.

  
Jane folded her arms across her chest. “This does not concern you, Loki.”

  
Darcy turned her head and blinked. Twice. There, in heavy silver chains and attached to two guards, was the infamous Prince Loki. He was not as well-groomed as those previous holograms. His face was hollow and worn. His hair was a black, tangled web. He looked exhausted.

  
“Forgive my appearance,” He ignored Jane and focused on Darcy. “My invitation to this celebration was impromptu—and I assume not without some form of personal humiliation.”  
“Is that all you have to say?” Darcy placed her hands on her hips. She rolled her fingers over the silky fabric of her gown. There was no way he was getting off that easy.

  
Loki squinted and shifted his body. The weight of the chains clinked with his movements. He seemed confused. “What more is there?”

  
“Are you serious right now? Don’t act like you have no fucking idea what I’m talking about.” Darcy tapped her fingers against his chest. He was pissing her off on purpose.

  
She did it for the sake of intimidation. To drive her point home. That he was responsible for her almost dying. And that he needed to cough up some pretty good answers. In her blinding anger, she forgot Loki was not some loser she met that evening at a dive bar. He wasn’t a shithead frat boy. He was a God.

  
The rattling chains were not enough warning. The strain and shouts from the guards was not enough either. Nor was Jane attempting to pull her back. He clacked his white teeth mere inches from her face.

  
“Mortal,” He growled. “It is no fault but your own to make assumptions and be so trusting of every creature that lurks these halls.”

  
That should have been enough for her to stand down. But she burned inside. And her fire needed release.

  
“Nice!” Darcy spat. “You make it sound like almost dying was my fault!”

  
The ground and sky rumbled. A crack of thunder and flash of white light illuminated his dark features. Loki’s face and neck contorted in monstrous ways. As he struggled in his chains, the veins on his skull bulged. His nostrils flared. And his jade eyes were unforgiving and cold.

  
“You were on the borders of Valhalla. You escaped Hel. You would have perished were it not for me!”

  
“What are you babbling about?” Darcy raised her arms and shook her fists. “You didn’t do a damn thing but screw with me!”

  
“I saved your worthless, meaningless existence!” Loki shouted and lunged for her.

  
The next few moments were snapshots in time. Loki grabbed and broke some bangles from her wrist. Jane shouted something imperceptible to the darkening sky. Thor’s descending red cape blocked her vision. Another brilliant flash of white light assaulted her eyes. And then, Loki squirmed on the ground with Myuh-Myuh planted on his chest.

  
Once the sharp-pitched ringing in her ears faded, it was replaced with roaring orders from the King. The Queen strode in silence beside him. She seemed pained.

  
“Enough!” Odin commanded and stood above Loki. “You will cause no further disgrace on this eve of the future King’s betrothal.”

  
Loki smirked and laughed. He sucked in a breath and winced from the weight of Thor’s hammer. “What a peculiar way to acknowledge my reign over Asgard. Ah, no matter. Whom shall I call wife, Odin?”

  
Sif barged through the crowd and unsheathed her sword. The tip fell at the crook of Loki’s throat. “I am to be Queen.”

  
“Hmm,” He mused aloud. “I suppose you will suffice. Your frame does not appear supportive for sons but, perhaps that could still be arranged.” He rolled his head to Darcy and winked.

  
Was he for real? Two seconds ago he wanted to rip her to shreds, and now he was making jokes. But it did not surprise her. The God of Mischief was making his name and intentions well known.

  
“Vile serpent,” Sif snarled. “I would rather die a thousand times over than lay one night with you.”

  
“Fear not, dear Queen,” Loki failed at adjusting his body beneath the hammer and sighed. “I will permit you to refuse me. There are others more willing than you.”

  
“Enough of these jests, Loki,” Frigga spoke in calm, even tones. She seemed to be treading lightly around her words. She placed her jeweled hand on Thor’s shoulder. “Tonight, we celebrate the engagement of Thor and Sif.”

  
Darcy’s heart plummeted. And what would happen to Jane? She did not even dare glance at her friend. If she saw any trace of pain—

  
Thor may have been attempting to be subtle, but it was not in his nature. He spoke loud enough for all present company to hear—and for that Darcy was thankful. She would not have to release her own fiery tongue.

  
“I do not desire Sif.” Thor edged away from his mother. His eyes locked with Jane.

  
The dark haired warrior’s resolve shattered. The sword she had perfectly aligned with Loki’s carotid drooped to the ground. Her animated features withered. Fandral attempted to comfort her, but she shoved him away.

  
Darcy thought Sif must have known. It was so obvious. It was plain to see the love between Jane and Thor, but to hear it as truth must have been devastating for her. And it most certainly showed.

  
“It matters not if you desire her now,” Odin scoffed and made a dismissive wave at Sif. “You have centuries for fondness and other pleasantries. Asgard needs you as King.”

  
“I refuse the crown,” Thor snaked through the crowd and stood before Jane. “I serve to protect the interests of Midgard.”

  
“And what of your heritage? What of your people? Do you denounce them all for one, insignificant Midgardian woman?” Odin barked and shook his fist at his son.

  
“There is more than one, insignificant life he has to worry about,” Jane replied and held her stomach with pride.

  
Loki burst into a jagging fit. Darcy was amazed he remained quiet for this long. His chest heaved and tears spilled from his eyes. “Look on your dysfunctional kingdom, Odin. You will die on your throne—heirless and alone. No matter the choice, me or your beloved Thor, will result in the destruction of Asgard.”

  
With one glance from the King, the guards were slowly dragging Loki from the crowd. Thor interjected to remove his hammer, which produced a great sound of relief from the prisoner. Loki stood and mouthed some words of congratulation to his brother, but they were not well received. Thor followed them, wordlessly, to what Darcy presumed was his cell. As she watched their retreating forms, Darcy frowned.

  
If Thor stayed with him, she was never going to get any straight answers from Loki. Nor was she going to get any alone time with him. She rubbed her wrist and toyed with the bracelets he mangled. Even after this chaotic display, she still wanted him. She wanted him to break his shackles and wind them around her wrists. She wanted his teeth to graze the nape of her neck. She wanted him to tear her dress open and take her from behind.

  
It was so utterly fucked up. How could she be thinking of only him, when all of Asgard was falling apart? She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. Would he haunt her forever?

  
A light feathery touch on her arm gave Darcy pause. She hesitantly opened her eyes and saw the warm, reserved smile of Frigga. Darcy scrambled into a sloppy curtsy and waited for a response from the Queen.

  
“Lady Darcy, please rise,” Frigga motioned for her to stand. “How are you faring?”

  
That was a loaded question. Darcy felt great. Aside from the guilt that she should be mourning the loss of Asgard, or Thor’s rejection of Sif, or Jane’s insecurity of carrying an illegitimate demi-God—not thinking about fucking her adopted son until he turned frost giant blue.

  
“I’m as okay as I can be,” Darcy shrugged. That wasn’t a lie. “How are you?”

  
The Queen surveyed the party and exhaled silently. It was then Darcy noticed that only the servants were left. They cleared the food and decorations with expedience. Sturdy, well-built men carried chairs and tables into the palace. They worked so quickly. It was as if the celebration never happened.

  
“As well as can be expected,” She mimicked Darcy and turned to the staircase. “Will you walk with me?”

  
The last time she walked with royalty was nothing short of disastrous. Darcy was in no mood to relive any overt orders to make Jane understand her place—or lack thereof—in Thor’s life.

  
“Look, your majesty,” Darcy twirled the bent bracelets on her arms. “The King already talked to me about Jane. I understand that Thor has commitments to Asgard, but he isn’t going to let her go. Not in her condition anyway.”

  
The Queen regarded her and spoke in the same tranquil tone from earlier. “Odin may be King, but he cannot force Thor onto the throne. Nor does he have any say in the matters of children. That is my domain. And he would do well to not interfere.”

  
That was comforting, if only somewhat. Darcy would hate for Odin to command Jane to eliminate her little problem so Thor would have no more distractions. She was glad Frigga had control over those circumstances. But what would happen to Asgard?

  
Darcy thought it impolite to ask about the fate of Asgard. So she accepted the Queen’s offer to walk the palace grounds together. Bright standing candelabras and white, twinkling lights from the trees lit their path. They walked at a leisurely pace, Frigga would comment on a statue or flower and its significance to Asgardian culture. Her knowledge was impressive and expansive, Darcy could only marvel at her words.

  
As they approached a gated orchard, the Queen stopped. She grasped the filigreed handle and said to it, “I am afraid I must ask if you would perform a great task, Lady Darcy.”

  
Oh that figures. Darcy should have known better than to trust a quiet walk through the garden. Shit like that always came with a price. “What do you want me to do?”

  
“This has moved beyond Thor refusing the crown. He has refused to protect Asgard. He will be banished.” Frigga tapped on the cast-iron gates with her fist. She did not divert her gaze from the orchards. “I want you to ensure Asgard has a fair and just King.”

  
“And how do you expect me to convince Thor to rule Asgard?”

  
Frigga glanced behind her and smiled, “My dear, you know I have more than one son.”


	6. Go Time

Chapter Five – Go Time

_I’m a flame_   
_You’re a fire_   
_I’m the dark in need of light._

_When we touch, you inspire_  
 _Feel the change in me tonight._  
  
_So take me up, take me higher_  
 _There’s a world not far from here_  
 _We can dance in desire,_  
 _Or we can burn in love tonight._  
  
 _Kygo ft. Conrad Sewell – “Firestone”_

* * *

Darcy thought her handmaidens were the ones with ridiculous ideas. But this request from the Queen … she couldn’t wrap her head around it. It made zero sense.

If Frigga didn’t want Thor to be King, then she had to be mental to think Loki would be a suitable replacement.

There was an off chance she didn’t hear the Queen correctly. Maybe she was still having a lingering auditory hallucination and somehow it distorted Frigga’s words.

Darcy cleared her throat—and mind—and asked, “Your majesty, what exactly are you asking me to do?”

Frigga turned back to the large, golden gates. A gentle breeze unraveled one of her tightly wound curls. The Queen wrapped her fingers around the stray lock. “Too much it would seem.”

Darcy didn’t know what to make of that response. What did she mean by ‘too much?’ That it would be too much to convince all of Asgard that Loki would be an amazing leader? Yeah, that was definitely too much for anyone to accomplish. It was also impossible. There was not a single person, God or otherwise, that would trust Loki on the throne.

And at this point, wouldn’t it be easier to convince Thor to rule Asgard? Gods were allowed to have mistresses, right? Maybe Darcy could persuade Jane that this was the best—albeit archaic—route. And bastard children had to be okay; the Queen did say kids were her domain. Frigga wouldn’t let anything happen to Jane’s little whoopsie. Plus, being Auntie Darcy to the badass, demi-god spawn of Thor would be pretty friggin’ awesome.

“Something more attainable would be best,” Frigga tapped the gates with her bejeweled rings. “Perhaps we can start with a smaller venture?”

If getting Asgard to accept Loki as their King was a great task, what would constitute a smaller one? Where was the Queen going with this?

Darcy pressed her palms together. “Sure, I guess so. Breaking a big thing into smaller parts would make it more manageable.”

“And so it shall be,” The Queen turned to her, away from the fields of golden apples, and beamed. “So let us start with companionship.”

“Yeah, okay! We can do that.” Darcy gave a mental sigh of relief. “Oh, wait. Nobody back home would ever believe we were buds though. Photographic evidence is necessary. Selfies are a good start. And some pics of that boar with hashtag Asgardian-cusine-ftw. Oh, but SHIELD probably would censor the crap out of it—”

“My dear,” Frigga stared at Darcy. “I mean companionship with the Prince.”

Darcy cringed. She wanted to crawl under a proverbial rock and die. Or get KO’d by Myuh-Myuh, right here on the grass, so she didn’t have to deal with her own stupidity anymore.

But what did being friends with Thor have to do with anything?

“We’re all good in that department, your Majesty. Thor and I have the companion thing covered.”

“Lady Darcy, you keep forgetting the other Prince of Asgard.”

She hadn’t forgotten about him—rather it was the opposite. Darcy was looking for any excuse not to think about him. To not think about the sly curves of his mouth. To not want to cover his neck with hungry, open-mouthed kisses. To stop day-dreaming about the feel of his slick dark hair running between her fingertips. And waiting, impatiently, for his tongue between her spread legs …

“Lady Darcy,” The Queen touched her shoulder. “Your face is flushed. Do you still feel ill?”

Yes, Darcy was sick alright—sick to be fantasizing about fucking that sick fuck.

“I’m fine, thank you. And to answer your previous request, I think I can do it. I’ll try to be um, companions, with the Prince.”

“I am pleased to hear you consider it,” The Queen smiled. “There is only so much closeness a mother can give. Perhaps a new fondness would be best.”

A new fondness? Closeness? What exactly was she getting at? The Queen spoke with such reverence and idealization, it made Darcy feel guilty. She didn’t want to be the cause of any more disappointment. Darcy didn’t know if she was capable of having fondness for Loki—or what Frigga’s definition of fondness encompassed—but for Frigga’s sake the least she could do was try.

* * *

 

Darcy twirled the broken and bent bracelets around her wrists. Loki had come close to ripping them off. They would have been nothing more than mangled metal on the soil. And if he succeeded, the jagged pieces would have torn across her wrist and broke her flesh. And if she bled, what would he have done? Would he apologize then?

Darcy doubted it. Loki wouldn’t bother saying sorry over broken jewelry or some scratches. And it didn’t seem like he would admit to being wrong either. He was a manipulator. He could convince you that his mistakes were somehow your fault. And that was precisely what he did during their first real interaction.

It was beyond Darcy how Loki saved her from Valhalla and Hel. For one thing, she didn’t know what he was jabbering on about. Valhalla and Hel? What the fuck did that even mean? Were those places or people? And furthermore, Loki didn’t really help her that much. He was a defenseless little fur-bag. All he did was bitch, meow, and scratch her bare legs. He was useless.

The only person that did something was that winged Goddess Freyja. Darcy thought it more probable that Freyja saved her. But Darcy didn’t understand her comment about Loki’s heart. Being gentle and Loki didn’t belong in the same sentence. Nor did Darcy understand why Freyja handed over a piece of her necklace.

Darcy traced the lines of her right palm. Where did that ruby go?

Earlier while Lofn bathed her, Darcy searched for it in the linens. She skimmed the smooth sheets at least a dozen times, but came up empty and frustrated. Did it dissolve into her body? Or was the gemstone, much like everything associated with it, nothing more than a part of her fever dream?

But now was not the time for introspection or distraction. Lofn was being true to her word. Darcy had to focus and listen. It was finally happening. She was going to be alone with Loki.

“You need to stand out from the rest,” Lofn scanned Darcy. “He has to pick you. And only you.”

Darcy scrunched her nose. “What do you mean the ‘the rest’?” _And only me?_

Lofn’s eyes narrowed into tiny, hard slits. “Must I repeat myself, Lady Darcy?”

_Oh, fantastic. Off to a great start, as usual. So much for paying attention space-cadet_ , Darcy scolded herself.

“A refresher would be nice and appreciated,” Darcy bowed her head. She peered at the handmaiden between strands of her hair. Darcy hoped Lofn had some patience left for her gnat-like attention span.

“Like I said, moments before,” Lofn circled around Darcy. “There will be several choices presented to his majesty this evening.”

There would be _several_? Well, shit. There went her one chance. Darcy saw what the other Asgaridan women looked like—they were gorgeous, perfect, and practically illuminated immortality from their milky tits. Darcy and her pendulous, approaching stretchmark breasts were doomed.

“The prince may select one, two, or all of you depending on his needs.”

“Lofn,” Darcy raised her finger. “I like my fair share of kink, but I’m a one-on-one kind of girl. And the competition doesn’t seem to be in my favor, if you know what I mean.”

“Enough,” Lofn barked. “You will speak no longer of inadequacies. It will do you no good in the presence of Prince Loki. Is this understood?” “Totally,” Darcy stiffened. Lofn definitely wasn’t warm and fuzzy like Sjöfn—this dark-haired handmaiden was all business compared to her red-headed counterpart.

“Confidence, Lady Darcy,” Lofn tilted Darcy’s chin up. “Have confidence in me and yourself.”

* * *

 

Darcy was cold. It was erroneous to think the long, green velvet cloak would keep her naked body warm. She briskly walked the corridors, hoping the movement would heat her bones. But her feet padded along the cool marble and prickled her flesh. The lining of the cloak was no better. It caressed her bare body like a lover. Every minute motion teased her incessantly.

She was freezing, yet aflame. And it was maddening. She had to concentrate.

Darcy lowered her head as instructed. Only a few strands of her dark curly hair and sharp nose were visible from under the cloak. Lofn said these little snippets were the only parts of her body, apart from her hands and feet, that were permitted to be exposed.

“Another?” A gruff, brassy voice questioned.

Darcy skid to a halt. Her heart fluttered. Who is that? From the edge of her hood Darcy could make out the shimmer of golden plate armor. Was he a guard?

“Yes, another volunteer for his majesty,” Lofn’s voice did not falter. “Permit us entrance, please.”

“Mind your words, woman,” The man must have shifted position, for the rattling of metal followed. “This is undue loyalty for a traitor. It is most troublesome.”

“Is it so troublesome that you would tell the Alfather of this treachery, Halvor?” Lofn latched onto Darcy.

The handmaiden’s fingernails burrowed and pinched the delicate flesh under Darcy’s wrist. Darcy bit back a whimper. She was supposed to remain silent. Lofn said under no circumstances were she to speak, unless the Prince asked her to do so. It was bizarre, but Darcy assumed it was just another weird Asgardian sex custom.

Lofn’s tone and vice grip alerted Darcy to stick with the plan. This Halvor dude knew something was fishy. He might expose them. She swallowed, pushing down the rising fear in her throat. All she had to do was be still and silent.

Don’t move. Don’t speak. Don’t breathe. Don’t think.

Darcy prayed and begged. They had gotten this far. Loki could not be far from here. And yes, maybe this plan was bound to fail from the start. But Lofn had asked for confidence and trust; And Darcy would honor that.

“No,” Halvor exhaled. “I am not a man of that kind.”

Don’t move.

“I know,” Lofn did not relax her grip. “Now, permit us passage.”

Don’t speak.

“Of course,” Halvor stepped out of Darcy’s line of sight, but she could hear the jangle of keys. A loud click, followed by mechanical whirring and a long, drawn out whine signaled the opening of doors.

Don’t breathe.

Lofn’s grasp slackened. Her fingers loosely hung around Darcy’s wrist. “Many thanks, Halvor. Now come along, girl.”

Don’t think.

Just go.

Darcy trod wordlessly behind Lofn. Flames from torches licked the staircase, casting alternating areas of light and dark on the steps. Darcy hoisted her cloak with one hand and ran her fingertips over the grooved stone wall. She descended, using the jutting stones as a makeshift bannister. She had no intention of falling down and breaking her neck now.

“Girl,” Halvor’s voice jarred her thoughts. “Do you know the dangers of this union?”

_Dammit_ , Darcy bit her bottom lip to keep from speaking. She stopped, turned, and nodded. Hopefully, that would be enough of an answer for him.

“She is well aware of the consequences, Halvor,” Lofn bristled and reached for Darcy again. “She does not require your protection. We must hasten. Come along.”

That was the last Darcy heard from Halvor. Darcy tried not to let his question flood her thoughts; but it was hopeless. This definitely gave off a leading-lambs-to-slaughter vibe.

But if Loki wanted her dead, he would have done it already. He wouldn’t waste such pageantry on a mortal. And his Mom thought it was safe enough for them to be companions … so that had to count for something.

Darcy hoped she would remember Lofn’s lecture. There was a good possibility it would go right out the window the moment Darcy heard Loki. She thought of his thick, honeyed voice and clenched her thighs together. Darcy balled her hands into fists. She would fight this urge to rip her cloak off and jump on him. She had to keep it together. She had to keep this charade going. She was just another Asgardian girl, doing her duty for the Prince.

Darcy proceeded slowly, carefully, making certain the cloak did not catch on any cracks. She focused and soon, her toes transitioned to flat marble again. Darcy breathed out, clutching her chest, very much relieved that the potential for fractures and a full-body cast was over.

Lofn grasped her again, dragging her body forward. Spasms of pain erupted from her wrist and pounded in her head. Darcy wanted to yelp out, or yank Lofn around like a toddler’s toy, but remained quiet.

She was ushered behind another green cloak. Darcy’s eyes darted to assess her surroundings. A faint golden light filled her vision, but she didn’t have time to investigate further.

Heavy circular cuffs clicked around her wrists. Darcy’s hands faltered and drooped. She could not possibly lift her hands now. She didn’t even bother trying. The golden cuffs were probably impermeable anyway.

She leaned forward, sighing when pressure released from her lower back. But Darcy’s relief was momentary. Weighted cuffs clasped around her ankles, bringing a new resounding pain. It made her bones scream for mercy.

Lofn breathed into her ear. “Farewell. You have one hour. Remember my words.”

The cuffs vibrated and jangled. The green cloak in front took a step forward and Darcy nearly tumbled into her back. It dawned on Darcy that she was shackled to this woman, Asgardian, or otherwise. Darcy watched those feet in front of her, trying hard to be unfazed by the fact that they were blue, and noiselessly followed.

The floor transitioned again to a stark white marble. The golden lights were brighter here, dancing and making intertwining shapes on the floor. Darcy squinted from the harshness. She knew it must have taken only a few minutes to get here, but her body was protesting. She was slick with sweat. She was unable to identify her skin from the cloak. It was stuck to her. Darcy shuffled along, until a familiar voice rang out.

“Stop.” Darcy’s heart pounded in her ears. She was here. She was with Loki. But she had to play along to keep her spot. She remained motionless as he instructed.

Clack. Clack. Clack. Shoes echoed in the room. They became louder, closer, and then ceased. The sound of his approach was replaced with a whimper.

_Was that me?_ Darcy tightly pressed her lips together. She shut her eyes, concentrating on controlling her breathing, but the whimpering grew louder. And then came the wracking sobs. And the pleading.

It wasn’t her. It was someone else farther down.

“Please, please,” The young voice begged between gasps. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

Darcy’s spine straightened. The fine hairs on her neck rose to attention. You were not allowed to speak unless addressed. That was a cardinal rule.

“Do you not wish to be here?” Loki spoke with an even, unfaltering tone.

“No, please, no,” The woman cried. “Please, have mercy.”

“This was your choice.”

“It was not,” She blubbered. “Our family suffers. I was promised stipends were I to do this, but I cannot. Please, let me go. Please.”

Darcy’s stomach twisted into a hard knot. This woman was trying to save her family by giving herself to the Prince. She didn’t actually want to be here.

“Is there not one among you that would willingly lay with me?” His voice cracked. “Must you all be coerced with sums or promises of redemption?”

Darcy’s heart sunk. She recalled when Lofn said Loki had countless lovers. She wondered how many of them were like this Asgardian woman—only wanting money or martyrdom.

“Go,” His voice wavered. “My patience wears thin.”

The shackles simultaneously unlocked. Darcy fell to the floor, overcome with relief. She massaged her wrists and ankles, inspecting them for demarcation. Darcy sighed, grateful to be only mildly sore. She hoped bruises wouldn’t follow tomorrow.

The scurrying and commotion of at least a dozen women assaulted her ears. Words of hate and contempt sprouted from their lips. Banging on glass came next, followed by alarmed shouts and desperate cries for release. One by one, the din quieted and the room stilled.

Was she the only one left?

Darcy lifted the cloak with her thumb and pointer finger, scanning with only her eyes. There were a few simple pieces of furniture. A table, a ceramic bowl and pitcher, two chairs. A bed with plain white sheets. And a fairly large bookcase. She was surprised to find Shakespeare among the leather bound titles.

And there he was, standing with his back to Darcy. But he wasn’t alone. There was a blue bare-assed woman wrapping herself around his lean arms. Black and red tribal markings ran the length of her body. Some bulged against her skin, looking more like veins than tattoos. She brushed back his dark locks and pressed her lips to his ear.

_You Avatar-knock-off_ , Darcy’s thoughts dripped with venom. _Get your fucking hands off him!_

Darcy shook her head. Her blood had reached boiling point so quickly and intensely. It wasn’t like her to think that viciously about someone she didn’t even know. It was terrifying, but to see this woman with Loki made her feel predatory.

“Angrboda,” Loki looked the blue woman over once. “I know not how you came here undetected, but I suggest you leave.”

Angrboda dragged her nails down his spine. “You have never refused me before, my love.”

_What’s your problem, whore? Can’t take a hint? No means no, hussy!_ Darcy ground her teeth and burned holes through this pompous, conceited woman. She wanted to tear her apart, but she kept her fisted hands on the marble floor.

“No, I have not,” Loki spoke between clenched teeth. “But I grow weary of your refusal of Hel, Fenrir, and Jormungand.”

Angrboda rolled her head back and laughed. Her red eyes twinkled. “You ask me to call those— _monsters_ —my own?”

“Woman,” Loki rasped and crashed his hands around her throat. “You forget _I_ am the monster.”

Angrboda sputtered wildly, her black hair whipping around from the struggle. Darcy watched, mesmerized, as Loki pushed on her throat. His fingers and hands turned a vibrant blue. His face contorted and erupted with markings similar to those spackled on his victim. And his eyes, once so green and mysterious, were now crimson.

In one fluid motion, Angrboda’s foot came crashing down. The crunch of breaking bones and his primal howl was enough. Darcy leapt from the ground. She didn’t wait for a spark, for she was already burning and running.

It took only moments for her hood to fly back, for her hair to spray around her like Medusa, and for tears to stream from her open eyes. Darcy blinked once and was there.

There was between Loki and Angrboda. Darcy felt his hands still hovering; still expecting to be laced around Angrboda’s throat. She shoved the tall blue woman against the shimmering glass.

Darcy snapped her teeth and growled, “Leave. Now.”

“Oh, and what be this?” Angrboda tilted her head and cackled. “What shall I call it?”

“Darcy Lewis,” Darcy snarled. “Don’t forget _it_ , bitch.”

The fire, which was once satisfied licking her insides, had now engulfed her very being. Darcy pulled her arm back, cracked her knuckles, and shot her fist forward. She had expected impact. To see Angrboda’s face squish and nose twist. To hear the grinding of bones and cartilage would have been deliriously heady.

Instead Darcy got screams. And fire.

Red and orange flames were scorching Angrboda’s face. They were burning and tearing her flesh away in little flakes. She screeched and stumbled around the cell, furiously patting her face, before finding the pitcher. She dumped its contents over her face and hair. The water hissed on contact with her skin, causing tiny grey smoke to escape from her flesh.

The subsequent hisses came from Angrboda’s angry, distorted mouth, “Oh, I will not forget you Darcy Lewis. Nor will my kin. Mark this as your one and only victory over Ironwood.”

Angrboda gathered her cloak, wrapping it around her naked form, and pressed her hand over the glass pane. Angrboda slipped through the rippling glass, as if she was passing under a waterfall, and then she was gone. She dissipated into nothing, leaving Darcy to wonder if she even existed at all.

Tender, thin fingers combed through Darcy’s hair. The sensation prickled through her body. Loki was touching her. She could feel it. This was real. He was real.

Darcy nuzzled against his fingers. She was going to repress everything that just happened with Angrboda and the fire. She was going to pay up the ass for therapy, but there was no way Darcy was screwing up this moment.

“It would seem we are even,” Loki’s fingers trailed to the ties of her cloak. “I saved you. And you saved me.”

“I think that deserves a celebration,” Darcy knew he was near, so she purposely pressed her back against him. She wanted to feel his excitement.

“Indeed,” Loki inhaled sharply. “But answer something for me first.”

“Okay. What?” Darcy waited this long. She could answer one question.

His caresses were gone, replaced with crushing arms around her chest. Darcy struggled against him, but his grip only strengthened. She was a mouse, moments before the snake squeezed her to death. She had to do something. She had to say something.

But he beat her to it.

His reflection in the glass was sinister. His lips pulled back over his teeth. “What are you?”


End file.
